


The "First Fight" Box

by wunderxfunk



Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine, M/M, future!Klaine, klaine wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderxfunk/pseuds/wunderxfunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine have their first big fight as a married couple, and it’s a lot more intense than they’d ever anticipated. Luckily, they came prepared. (Slightly Future!Klaine, canon up until ~5x17)</p><p>Warnings: Mention of canonical character death (Kurt’s mom), angst, and a lethal dosage of fluff to make up for it (sorry!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "First Fight" Box

**Author's Note:**

> I came across this wedding planning idea and thought that this really needed to happen. Many thanks to my lovely pal ludicrousxlogic for helping me sort through this. She’s a godsend.

Kurt first hears about the idea of the box on a site for wedding planning. He sits with his computer in his lap, his fingers curled around a mug of herbal tea despite the eighty-degree summer heat in New York, scanning the hundreds of comments from married couples who swear by the method.

**_Anonymous:_ ** _i thought this was the cutest idea when i first came across it, and we decided to give it a shot. turns out, it was the best wedding planning decision we made._

**_Devon Holmer:_ ** _Thank you so much to whoever posted this! It’s genius! Definitely trying it out when my fiancée and I get married next week._

**_Abby Coltrain:_ ** _My husband and I probably would have called it quits after just two months if it hadn’t been for this idea. The fact is, marriage is stressful. No, that’s a huge understatement. There are moments when everything changes, and you become so detached that the past stops mattering, and you truly believe you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. You forget all the reasons why you made this crazy choice in the first place. You want to never see each other again, and it’s more jarring than you can believe. You’ll need things like this to ground you, as a reminder of who the other is. Trust me. The box is a lifesaver. You won’t regret doing it._

Kurt purses his lips, drumming his fingertips against the warm ceramic beneath them. He’s been looking for creative ways to break from wedding traditions. The ceremony will be gorgeous, of course. He hasn’t been flitting obsessively between New York City florists and caterers in the stifling weather for nothing. But he still wants to add a few extra things to the big day to make it special—unique to his and Blaine’s relationship.

The box seems like something simple to prepare compared to other ideas, a symbol of the seriousness with which they are taking the challenge in front of them. He can’t count the number of times he’s received patronizing glances from adults when he’s explained that he is marrying his high school sweetheart that August. Kurt’s gotten used to it—they’ve been engaged for over a year and a half—but it still stings a little when he considers how many people out there doubt that he and Blaine will make it work.

Maybe this display could help cement in the minds of others that, yes, he is an adult and, yes, Kurt Hummel-soon-to-be-Hummel-Anderson is aware that marriage is a commitment that takes decades of hard work. Besides, he and Blaine barely ever have fights that can’t be resolved with some time apart and a round of amazing make-up sex. Sure, they bicker, but after all they’ve been through, he can’t imagine something coming between them that isn’t reparable. They’ll probably never even have to use the box, right? It will just be that—a symbol of their devotion

 Kurt promptly bookmarks the page and closed his laptop.

***

“Kurt, we agreed. No peeking.”

“I’m not,” Kurt protests, subtly shifting back in his seat and drawing his gaze back to his own blank page in front of him because, yeah, he’d been peeking.

They’d agreed to finish the letters one afternoon together, but Kurt quickly finds that professing his love on paper, knowing that it might be read someday by his future husband, is easier said than done. What if he comes off as corny? It has to be meaningful. It has to remind Blaine of _exactly_ how it felt to fall in love, wrapped up in each other so wholly that they had decided to spend the rest of their lives together. What if future Blaine looks at it and doubts its sincerity?

 And how in the _hell_ is Blaine able to sit down and immediately start pouring himself onto the page without having to stop and think? Perhaps he isn’t putting as much careful consideration into the task as Kurt, which is a little bit disappointing.

“Yes, you were,” Blaine states, pausing in his writing to fix Kurt with an amused expression. “It’s against the rules.”

“I just don’t get how this is so easy for you.” Kurt taps his pen against the paper, obviously frustrated. It isn’t supposed to be hard. _Why is it so hard?_

Blaine’s gentle smile and infuriatingly calm demeanor holds, and he sets the letter down in his lap, folding it so Kurt can’t make out any words. He reaches out across the space between them on the couch, bridging it by taking Kurt’s free hand in his. Kurt just eyes him and huffs, his minor annoyance still apparent.

“Kurt,” Blaine starts, his lips twitching further upwards the way they always do when he says the name in that soft, understanding tone.“First of all, you know me. I’m the guy who serenaded someone in the middle of Old Navy.”

“It was a Gap,” Kurt corrects. “I can’t believe you don’t remember that.”

“Kurt,” Blaine repeats, unaffected by the interruption. His thumb traces the back of Kurt’s hand, leaving a gentle tingling in its wake. “I guess it’s not hard for me because I know how I feel. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a tendency to throw myself in, emotions and all, once I’ve made a decision.”

He gives Kurt a small tug, pulling him in until their hands are intertwined in his lap, resting on the folded piece of paper. Kurt meets his eyes and is lulled into silence by the certainty he finds in them. He resents that Blaine can bear his feelings with such ease, even when they have a negative impact or make him appear foolish. It isn’t often that Kurt regrets his own tendency for over-thinking and calculation, but this is one of those moments.

Still, he also loves the way that Blaine’s presence, their hands in each other’s and a single _look,_ is enough to smooth the wrinkles of Kurt’s irritation until he, too, feels Blaine’s unwavering conviction.

“Plus, it turns out that loving you is pretty easy.” Blaine says it as a matter of fact, and brings their hands to his lip, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s knuckles. “It comes naturally to me, and it’s a pretty distinct feeling.”

“I feel that way too, Blaine. I just don’t know how to define it.”

Blaine considers that, interest dancing across his face before he responds.

“Just give it a try. You don’t have to know what we’ll be arguing about or where we might be at the time.” Blaine lets go of his hand, and Kurt retreats back into his own space, though he’s a few inches closer now. “Reading that is enough, okay? That’s all I’ll need to know.”

Kurt takes up his pen again, the crease between his eyebrows gone. “I think I can do that.”

Blaine grins at him again, slowly unfolding his own letter. “Good, because I’m beginning to think this might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written.”

“Hmm… how do you spell ‘egotistical’?”

“Oh hush.” Blaine laughs. “It’s not every day I get to wax poetic about my gorgeous fiancée.”

“I don’t know about that. Your commentary on certain parts of my anatomy last night could probably be edited into a haiku or something.”

“Shut up.” Blaine leans over to silence Kurt with a harsh kiss. He pulls back, the silly smile still plastered across his features. “I love you, you know.”

“Okay, Wordsworth. Be quiet. I’m trying to write.”

Kurt manages to dodge the pillow that’s tossed at his head.

***

Sure enough, the wedding is perfect, aside from Sam’s choice to give his best man toast in the voice of William Shatner because it, quote, just sounds better that way. Kurt has a minor freakout about an error with the seating arrangement, but Rachel fixes it by yanking the clipboard out of his hands and demanding loudly that he go to the bar and get himself some champagne. Kurt and Blaine have their first dance to “Somewhere Only We Know”—the one of their many songs that they both agreed was perfect.

Just before they cut the cake, Rachel brings out a small wooden box and explains into a cordless microphone that the grooms won’t open it until they have their first fight as a married couple, and that they’ve written letters to each other to be sealed inside. Several people in the audience coo at the idea, and Kurt notices his father exchange a knowing smile with Carole. He recalls the conversation that they had the day that he and Blaine got engaged, about marriage and its complications. He also recalls how scared he was sitting in the passenger seat, but how all of that faded away as he stood at the bottom of a staircase. It was the exact same spot where a prep school boy once took his hand and changed his life forever.

Kurt and Blaine place two sealed envelopes and an unopened bottle of merlot in the box. They close it together, stealing glances at one another. Blaine sneakily sticks out his tongue and Kurt rolls his eyes and the guests applaud.

By the end of the night, they’re both exhausted, clinging to one another on the dance floor. Kurt complains that his feet are killing him, and Blaine hugs him even closer. They eventually climb into a limo with a cheering farewell from their friends and family, ready to head to the airport, where they’ll board a plane to London on their very first vacation as husbands.

Kurt slumps against Blaine in the back seat, and Blaine rubs soothing circles against his knee, whispering now and again about how happy he is until his voice seeps into Kurt’s dreams.

Two weeks later, they arrive back at home to find the box sitting on their kitchen counter with a note written in Rachel’s neat cursive. _Put this somewhere safe, boys. I love you both. Good luck!_

***

For four months, things are blissful. They work out the whole cohabitation issue, learning each other’s pet peeves and making quick efforts to mend them. Blaine makes sure that he closes the shower curtain _all_ the way when he gets in, and Kurt learns not to turn on the television when Blaine is huddled on the couch and mumbling into a script. There’s only breakfast in bed on Sundays, which is plenty, and quick kisses when one of them leaves for work or school.

And then there’s a _copious_ amount of sex, in every room of their tiny apartment, even more than when they were simply living together. _Actually_ being married has an  effect, and they just can’t keep their hands off one another. Kurt is embarrassed to acknowledge that his father was right about that.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm, so relaxed that Kurt begins to wonder if they’re an exception to the rule. Perhaps all the effort they spent during their engagement working out their kinks actually paid off.

That is, until finals week.

After the whole debacle during their first semester at NYADA, Kurt and Blaine are careful to only schedule one class together. It’s better that way. They get to sit together three afternoons out of the week, and practice lines with one another at night, but there’s a healthy amount of distance between them. Kurt is proud of the fact that they’re not co-dependent.

In the end of November, they receive their final assignment for the class—an open-ended instruction to give a performance of their choosing, focusing on vocal technique. Blaine immediately suggests that they perform a duet, making sure that this time it’s allowed in the requirements. It is, and Kurt accepts, and they get to work on an all-male arrangement of “The Next Ten Minutes” from _The Last Five Years_ that Kurt is sure will make the romantic inside of each audience member swoon. He and Blaine are pros at that.

What he doesn’t anticipate is Blaine’s change of heart a week before the performance, when he comes across a “genius” Imagine Dragons medley on Youtube and _insists_ that he just _has_ to perform it.

Attempting to rationalize his spontaneity, Blaine makes the argument that it’s predictable for he and Kurt to do a duet, and perhaps stepping outside the box isn’t such a terrible idea. Kurt is forced to admit that it _might be_ true, once he gives it some thought. They’d given a similar performance the year before, and it _is_ important to prove one’s own versatility as a performer. That being said, he’s still furious that he’s left scrambling for a project of his own with only a handful of days to prepare.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have let me known earlier,” he snaps at Blaine, a day later, rifling the pages of a stack of sheet music that Rachel lent him. Discarded songs are skewed about the floor of the living room where they’re sitting.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t really thought it through.” Blaine looks honestly apologetic, and Kurt’s frown twitches, his anger melting into frustration at the situation in general. It’s not as if this is the first time Kurt’s had little time to prepare, but… still.

“I can help you.” Blaine grabs part of the pile from Kurt, scanning a promising jazz piece. “Or, you know what, how about we just go back to the original plan? It was good. We’re awesome at duets. I can save the medley for next semester.”

“No.” Kurt sighs heavily, moving a copy of “Think of Me” aside. “You’re right about the whole predictable thing. Miss Tibideaux is a stickler for originality, and she’s going to be the one handing out grades. You’re way better off with your medley. I just wish we had thought about this.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine says again, painfully quiet, looking so guilty that Kurt softens even further and reaches out to gently peel the music from his hands.

“It’s okay. I’m not upset with you.” Which is probably more truth than a lie, Kurt reasons. He folds the papers in his arms. “Why don’t you just go start dinner, okay? I’ll… figure this out.”

“Okay,” Blaine replies, unsure and childlike. He stands up, but hovers there. Not wanting to feel bad again, Kurt avoids his eyes. Okay, maybe he _is_ a little bit mad.

“I love you,” Blaine adds, feebly.

“Love you too.”

Kurt doesn’t look up from the book he’s just opened, and Blaine eventually retreats to the kitchen.

In the end, Kurt gives up and settles on “Send in the Clowns”. It’s well within his abilities and he won’t forget the lyrics, which would be even worse than showing up with something that’s expected of him. And that’s exactly what it is. Expected. He’s very much aware, but he’s too anxious to take a last-minute risk.

A week after the performance, Kurt receives a grade sheet with a _B-_ scrawled across the top and the comment “ _Beautiful performance, but Sondheim again?”_

Blaine receives an A. Kurt swallows down his disappointment and congratulates him, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, and the topic vanishes from their everyday conversation.

***

That weekend, Kurt plans a short trip for them back to Ohio to visit their families before the holidays. Friday afternoon, the day they’re supposed to leave, he waits for Blaine in the apartment. It’s fifteen minutes before they need to get a cab to the airport, and Blaine still isn’t home. He’s packed both of their bags for them.

_‘Where are you?’_

His phone chimes with a reply, and Kurt slides his thumb across its surface.

_‘Why?’_

_‘We’re supposed to leave soon. Our plane takes off at four.’_

He glares at the screen until another response comes.

_‘Shit. Kurt, I completely forgot about the trip. I went with Sam to an audition in NJ because he wanted support. I don’t think I’m going to make it in time.’_

Kurt’s dumbfounded. He’s aware of Blaine’s sporadic absentmindedness, but to forget an entire trip when Kurt’s mentioned it several times in the past month? He gives himself some time before replying, resisting the urge to send a scathing text.

_‘Fine. See you on Sunday night.’_

_‘Okay. Have fun! I love you.’_

That’s it. Kurt reads it once he’s in the cab, and he doesn’t answer.

When he gets home at the end of the weekend, Blaine’s napping in bed. He wakes up when Kurt sits down next to him, not speaking.

“Hey there.” Blaine rubs the sleep from his eyes. “I missed you. How was it?”

“It was good.”

“I’m glad.” Blaine smiles at him. “You should get in bed. You look tired.”

“I need to shower.”

Kurt stands up. He takes his time, dawdling as he unpacks his shampoo. He wants to give Blaine the opportunity to apologize, or say _anything_ really that will acknowledge his mistake.

“Sam didn’t get the job. It wasn’t a great gig anyway, though.”

That’s all Blaine says, and Kurt just nods and leaves the room. When he returns, Blaine is asleep again. Kurt gets into bed and stares at the wall for a good half hour before he drifts off. In the morning, he decides to be the bigger person and let it go.

***

The fight happens several days before Christmas.

Kurt’s hanging ornaments on the tree when Blaine storms into the room, brandishing his phone. He’d excused himself a half hour earlier for his weekly call to his mom, leaving Kurt alone to finish up decorating. The apartment is almost finished being decked in festivity, a little slapdash due to the hectic rush of the end of semester, but still satisfying.

“Surprise. Another lecture about my irresponsible life choices.” Blaine tosses the cell phone onto a chair and plops down on the couch. He buries his face in his hands. “I think she still hopes I’m going to change my mind and run off and sign myself up for a biochemistry program somewhere. As if I haven’t told her one hundred times that I’m sure about what I want to do. As if I haven’t already spent thousands of dollars on one of the top performance schools in the country.”

Kurt says nothing, just watches from the corner as Blaine slumps further into himself, defeated. This is not the first time he’s heard this rant—he’s spent hours coaxing out Blaine’s optimism after many a similar encounter, advising him to rationalize, kissing him, even fuming along with him.

 Family is a sore subject for Blaine, one of the things that brings him down so much that he needs Kurt’s help and comfort. It’s a repetitive process, though, and Kurt’s patience approaching the holidays just isn’t up to par to go through it _again_. Instead, he simply braces himself for more exasperated words. Blaine doesn’t disappoint.

“I’m just so _sick_ of having the same conversation over and over again.”

Kurt smirks drily at the irony of the statement, but keeps quiet as he unwraps another packaged box. Glass bells, a wedding present from Mr. Schue. He stands on his tiptoes to hang it near the top of the tree. He’ll listen to Blaine’s complaints and climb into bed with him afterwards and it will all be over until whenever the next time Mrs. Anderson decides to broach the subject.

“I’m getting nearly perfect grades,” Blaine goes on, the volume of his voice rising slightly, and he sounds like a teenager. _He practically is one._ “I’m _married._ How am I still being forced into the role of the disappointing son? What’s so difficult about having a normal adult conversation? Why can’t it just be like, ‘merry Christmas Blaine’? ‘How were your finals, Blaine?’ ‘Are you coming home to visit?’ I swear, sometimes I wish I could stop speaking to her altogether. It would be so much easier.”

Kurt pauses at that, eyeing Blaine sideways with a raised eyebrow. _Really?_ Blaine isn’t even watching, isn’t even aware of him listening. Kurt narrows his eyes, mutters, tense and barely audible enough to be heard from across the room. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit of an insensitive thing to say?”

Blaine stops, as if he’s just remembered that he’s actually speaking to someone. “What?”

“That you wish you’d never speak to her again. That’s a little callous, don’t you think? Considering…” Kurt’s voice stays low, but he feels a tiny spark at the way Blaine regards him with a blank stare.

Recognition flickers across Blaine’s features, followed by immediate dismissal. “Kurt, you know that’s not what I mean. That’s completely different—“

“Is it?” Kurt sets down the box and steps a little closer, still calm, crossing his arms. “Because wishing someone out of your life is a pretty big statement. I mean, you have no idea what that’s actually like. To never have the chance to hear from someone again. It’s just… kind of ignorant.”

A small part of Kurt is aware that he’s toeing a dangerous line, but he can’t help latching onto this. It feels like something’s been seeping through a crack in him for weeks and it’s finally breaking past its barrier, past the territory of logic and reason. He _hates_ that it feels so satisfying and cathartic, but he can’t help himself, and the way Blaine looks taken aback only furthers it.

“Kurt, are you kidding me? This has nothing to do with your mother. That’s… not even a _little bit_ relevant.” And maybe it’s out of blue, but something about the question of _relevance_ and the scoff in Blaine’s voice strikes a chord with Kurt. Blaine, meanwhile, appears to be flitting between disbelief and indignation. Kurt feels the crack opening wider.

“No. It has nothing to do with her. Or me. It has to do with you. That’s obvious.” His voice is not nearly as controlled, laced with sarcasm, and it’s beginning to ring through the empty space in the apartment. “A shocking new development in the epic saga of Blaine Anderson.”

Blaine gets to his feet, his face crinkled with confusion, and he starts backtracking. “Wait, how did we even get here? What are you even _talking_ about?”

“I just think that maybe you should _think_ about what you say and do for once.” Kurt’s words are clipped, harsh but muted, and he feels blood flowing into his face. Everything about Kurt is crescendoeing, and there’s no way to prevent it. Even weirder, he doesn’t want to prevent it. “Just consider for a _second_ that you’re not the only person in the world and that you have _no_ idea how some experiences feel because you haven’t had them.”

“ _What_ is your problem?” Blaine demands, finally giving into Kurt and being the first to shout and _god_ it’s such a relief to finally be doing this that all of Kurt’s careful calculation flies out the window and it doesn’t _matter_ that nothing makes sense anymore because it’s just the two of them and every bad thing confined to a room that’s too full and it seems impossible that they haven’t broken through it before.

“You. I just don’t _get_ how you can be so selfish.”

There’s guilt budding, small in comparison to the maelstrom of frustration in Kurt, and Blaine winces at the label. Kurt has no idea where this is coming from, but it feels like the most important thing in the world at the moment. Deep down, he’s aware that it’s vicious and awful, but it seems so inevitable too, and he has to keep going or it’s going to destroy him.

“You never seem to stop for consideration. You just _say_ things and _do_ things, all the time, and you don’t give a _shit_ about the people around you. Maybe for _once_ you could stop and think about what your words mean to the people you’re saying them to. Or stop to think before you, I don’t know, spend weeks on a project with your partner and bail at the very last minute—“

“Seriously? You _said_ you were okay with that and—“

But Kurt barrels through him. “—and leave them to pick up the pieces after you. Or before you decide to run off to New Jersey with Sam an hour before I _told_ you we were leaving for the airport, then not even bother to apologize.”

“Kurt—“

But it doesn’t stop.

“Or before you hop into bed with some stranger that you’ve known for five minutes because _you_ feel lonely.”

 It pours out, and Kurt finds the off switch one second too late. He freezes. _No,_ he thinks to himself, and the word buzzes through him. He falters, trying to find more words but it’s just _no_ , because he knows that he’s just brought up the worst thing and it’s too much and it’s too horrible and he wants to take it back.

All he can focus on is the incredible amount of _hurt_ in Blaine’s face, his eyebrows knit, mouth gaping. Too much. It drowns Kurt. Too far, and the heavy light in the room is palpably wavering. Too much, too full.

“Blaine—“

“No.” The word returns, jolting Kurt into action, though he can only take one step forward before Blaine flinches back and out of his trance. His mouth closes, and his expression becomes icy except for the shining in his eyes and Kurt can’t feel anything but sorry.

“I can’t believe you,” Blaine begins, so slow. Kurt moves again, but Blaine’s response is to fade further from him, away.

“Please—“

“No,” Blaine says more firmly. His voice seems hollow, like it’s missing the most important part of it. Kurt wants it back. “I just… can’t believe that after _everything_ Kurt... we promised…” The wetness is brimming in Blaine’s eyes, and he averts them. “That there’s nothing I can ever do to make it go away—and that you don’t want it to—and you’re actually using it _against_ me.” Blaine’s voice becomes a shaky whisper, like he’s trying to escape and he’s close to it. “You _promised_.”

“I didn’t—“

“Please stop.”

Blaine’s gathering himself now, swiping at his eyes, and hardening like he’s constructing a coat of armor. Kurt is at a loss and there’s a giant distance that’s blossomed between them in mere minutes, out of thin air, that he can’t span. But then Blaine looks at him, fierce and rigid again, terrifyingly unfamiliar. He’s broadened out, suddenly poised, taking up more space than normal. “And I also can’t _believe_ that you would use your _mother_ as an excuse to pick a petty fight about a school project. That’s _horrible_ , Kurt.”

The accusation both burns and surprises him, and the look in Blaine’s eyes conveys that it was meant to. He’s staring at Kurt like an enemy. Kurt has seen Blaine do this before, but it’s never been him who was the thing to trigger it, not like this, and that fact alone aches just as much as the turn in conversation. But the words gradually sink in and Kurt’s hurt becomes shock.

“That was _not_ an excuse.”

“Really?” Blaine is quick to counter, and Kurt can’t help but notice that he looks like he’s facing an opponent. He remembers being in stage fighting class, Blaine’s unrelenting advances, but there’s no longer the aspect of pretend to hide behind. It occurs to him that perhaps he’s not the only one with a crack in him.

“ _My mistake_ ,” Blaine goes on, “because it seems to me like it was. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you can add _that_ to the list of my terrible inadequacies that you’ve apparently been keeping all this time.” There’s a foreign cruelty in Blaine’s cadence which corners Kurt, closing in around him, and it’s not _Blaine_ in front of him anymore, it’s a wall.

He pushes back, trying to reclaim the space that Blaine has stolen. “You have _no_ right to judge me for being upset by that. You couldn’t possibly relate to it. You have no clue.” Kurt’s shaking, shrinking, because he doesn’t have the strength to push but he’s trying. “And you know what? Even if I overreacted, the fact that I was clearly upset and you didn’t even apologize, just responded by acting as if I was being ridiculous—“ Kurt chokes, and he sees a flash of doubt that makes Blaine look like Blaine again for a brief moment, but he’s catching his breath to go on. Realizations are piling on top of Kurt and burying him, and he can’t tell which one resonates with how he actually feels. He’s just overwhelmed and confused and he can’t pinpoint exactly what prompted it and it’s alarming. He’s never felt this way.

“You didn’t care,” he manages, finally finding speech. It sounds wrong, yet frighteningly real, like there’s the slightest chance it could be true. “You’re the one who’s _supposed_ to _care_.”

 “ _I_ don’t care?” Blaine’s shouting, loud enough that the neighbors can hear. “I came in here to talk to you and you jumped on me with nonsense because you’re just _waiting_ for some reason to feel morally superior.”

“I don’t need to wait for a reason to be upset with you, Blaine,” Kurt bites back. “You give me plenty.”

Blaine’s mouth is a thin line, and Kurt can’t even see the color in his eyes past the dark.

“I can’t speak to you right now. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean by _this_?”

“I really don’t know, Kurt.”

It’s so quiet after that. Kurt is exhausted and they’re facing each other, neither one of them appearing certain anymore, stripped bare and astonished. _How did this happen?_ There’s no palpable answer in response, and Kurt is seized by the need to flee from the silence. So he does, and Blaine lets him.

The walk to their bedroom goes on forever, and Kurt keeps his eyes on the carpet beneath him, not bothering to turn on any lights as he goes. He feels like he’s just witnessed an explosion and now he’s wading through the shrapnel.

He feels shameful. He’d been so eager to pounce on Blaine. He knows that it had nothing to do with the conversation, or the project, or _anything_ in particular, and that scares the shit out of him. _How could he do that to someone if he loves them?_ Kurt’s usually so careful, even going so far as to rehearse insignificant confrontations in his head, mapping the argument out from point A to point Z and crafting a script of reasoning for himself before even bothering to bring it up. This wasn’t that at all, and he can’t reconcile himself with the rapid series of events.

Probably the scariest of all, though, is seeing that change mirrored in Blaine, who is always Kurt’s point of reference when he fears he’s deviating too far. He’s never seen Blaine quite so _angry_. Not at him. The shift makes everything seem fluid rather than solid between them and he can’t find his balance anymore. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this._ Everything about the past version of themselves, leading all the way up to that very morning, feels like it’s been nothing but a curtain over their naivety. How many people had told Kurt that he was making a mistake? How many people had been right?

Kurt flicks on the lights in the bedroom, illuminating the shared space, all the bits and pieces of both of them that exist together in it. Blaine’s laptop on the mattress, laying inches away from the novel Kurt had been reading that afternoon. Their clothes hanging side-by-side in the open closet. There’s a photo of them from the day after their engagement, pressed together and smiling wide up at a camera that Blaine’s holding. They look so young. Kurt tries to remember the exact moment the picture was taken, but nothing materializes, and he feels nauseous.

He walks over to retrieve his phone, desperate to find something in the outside world that can reorient him. He thinks perhaps he’ll call his dad, or Rachel. He considers leaving the apartment, evading the stifling presence in its rooms. He wonders how long it will take until they seem normal to him again. He wonders if they ever will.

Kurt makes the compromise with himself to pack an overnight bag when he spots something out of the corner of his eye, peeking out from the top shelf of the closet. He abandons his movements and fixates on it.

It takes a few seconds for Kurt to get the box down from the high ledge—it’s heavier than he remembers, or maybe it just feels that way. He examines it, the swirls in the wood winding aimlessly around, patterning the surface yet leading to absolutely nowhere. It calls to mind empty promises, until the box’s weight in his hands reminds him that there’s something inside.

Something important.

***

Kurt finds Blaine sitting at the kitchen table. He looks small again, if not even more miniscule than usual, and he’s hidden behind his palms. For just a second, Kurt wants to wrap his arms around him, but it only lasts a second because the atmosphere settles around him again and keeps him from going too close.

_What do you mean by this?_

_I really don’t know, Kurt._

It’s too fragile, only inches away from the fracturing point. It’s possible that it’s already shattered. Kurt really doesn’t want to consider that.

Blaine senses him, and drops his hands. His eyes are red-rimmed and everything twists inside of Kurt. He looks _miserable._ Blaine notices the box in Kurt’s hands, and the muscles in his jaw twitch with recognition. His gaze returns to Kurt’s, assessing him, until he finally gives a tiny, determined nod.

Kurt pries away the wooden lid while Blaine searches for glasses in the cupboards. They’re not saying anything at all, and their motion is stiff and deliberate. It’s nothing like the way they usually dance around each other in the kitchen, and there are no fleeting touches, no hands on shoulders or hips. They tiptoe, as if being too loud will wake up the beast that’s fallen asleep in the next room.

Kurt pulls out the bottle of wine and pours them each a full glass, using the ones that Blaine places in front of him. They reach for the letters, each marked by their own names in the other’s handwriting (both with the surname Hummel-Anderson).

There’s a second where Blaine stills, holding the envelope in his hand, and he appears as if he’s about to say something but he reconsiders. Kurt silently agrees with him. Letters first. They share one more look, and there’s too many things in it for Kurt to decipher. Then they retreat.

***

The first thing Kurt does is drain his glass and set it down on the nightstand. He settles with his letter on the floor at the foot of the bed, running his fingers over the faint indentations from Blaine’s writing on the face of it. It’s so small—barely weighs anything—and he has trouble imagining that it has the power to quell how shaken the past hour has made him, or that it can erase the corrosive guilt that has settled in his stomach.

That being said, Kurt is desperate for anything at all. He takes a breath and breaks the seal.

***

 There’s a gentle knock at the door, and Kurt looks up. He’s been reading the same few lines over and over again for the past half hour. At some point during his many re-readings, Kurt had started sobbing, and the page is now specked here and there with evidence of his reaction. He can’t think of anything but Blaine from six months ago, seated across from him on their couch, writing the same words as the ones in his hand. He wonders if they’re still true.

Blaine peers in, and it’s immediately clear that he’s been experiencing something similar, though it looks like he made an effort to clean himself up before crossing to Kurt’s side of the apartment. Kurt is jealous because he knows that his own face is puffy and awful.

“Kurt.”

The syllable is lacking in any confidence, and Blaine is still just inside the doorway. He has the letter in his hand. Kurt recognizes his own print on it, even from the floor. Blaine studies his face, and he seems to be trying to translate Kurt’s tears.

It’s too tense, and at long last Kurt takes the risk and opens his mouth. “I’m so, so—“

“Wait,” Blaine says, and, _fuck,_ maybe Kurt had read his husband wrong and things are not okay. Maybe his letter did nothing to repair what he’d done. He begins to panic, heat rising to his face.

_I can’t do this anymore._

But all of a sudden Blaine’s on the floor with him, and there are cool hands cupping his jaw and lips eager against Kurt’s.

Kurt folds into it, clawing at the fabric on Blaine’s back. He holds on as tightly as he can, and god he’s _shaking_ with relief and so is Blaine, and even though the scariness of their fight seems so silly now, they’re both radiating with the respite of it.

Blaine pulls away, just enough to talk. Kurt chases him, and Blaine doesn’t stop him, even sighs into the kiss when he does. They can’t stop. Not until it’s all gone, exorcised from their lives.

But Blaine finally gets a hold of Kurt’s arms and breaks the kiss. He looks just as regretful about it as Kurt feels, but he guides the hands clutching his back down into his lap, holding them there the same way he had when Kurt had freaked out about writing his letter. He lets go with one hand and reaches for the sheet of paper, which had dropped to the ground beside him. Blaine tongue darts out to wet his lips while he studies it.

“It says at the end that I should apologize first,” he says, and one corner of his mouth flicks upwards. Kurt sees the fondness, recognizes it, and tries to get a grip on himself because, Christ, he wants to cry again.

Blaine continues. “It says that you will probably be too stubborn to go first.”

Kurt remembers writing that now, at the very end of it, and his weak smile grows when Blaine returns it, teeth shining white and dark-lashed eyes crinkling faintly at the edges.

“Well, unless I grossly misinterpreted that kiss and whatever you were about to say before it, I’m pretty sure you were wrong about that.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Kurt replies in a hoarse voice, and Blaine chuckles softly. It’s more musical than Kurt remembers it ever being before.

“It says you’d be sorry anyway. That you’d be wishing for nothing more than for me to say it so you could too.” Blaine glances up at him, eyebrow raised. “Can I get an accuracy check?”

“Very accurate.”

“What about the part where you describe the first time we kissed? That you thought that it will forever be the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you.” Blaine is teasing now, but it’s far from menacing.

Kurt blushes while he reads on.

 “That you thought about it every single night when you were here and I was in Lima because it was your single happiest memory, and you would hope that you’d wake up in that room with me again. That sometimes you still do. Accurate?”

“Accurate,” Kurt admits. “Horrendously cheesy, but accurate. Though I’ve had even happier memories since.”

“Like what?”

“I think you can make an educated guess.”

Blaine hums in response, still scanning. He squints at the text. “You know, it’s weird, but I think you left out the part about me being selfish.”

It’s a painful comment.

 “Blaine, I don’t even know what came over me. You’re not—“

“Kurt.” He cuts him off, and for some reason he’s still smiling. It takes Kurt off guard. “It’s alright. Really. You were right about that.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Maybe not all the time, but I definitely lose track of others.”

“But your letter…” Kurt trails off, and he tightens his hold on Blaine’s hand. Blaine squeezes back.

“Was also accurate,” Blaine finishes. “It still is.”

“Blaine, it was—”

“I’m glad you thought so,” he replies, before Kurt can complete the sentence. He truly doesn’t need to.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said any of that in there. I can’t believe I even _thought_ it.”

“I’m sorry too, Kurt. And I will never, _never,_ hurt you like that again. I swear.”

“Accuracy check,” Kurt intones, and Blaine’s pervasive smile falls, waiting for him to elaborate. “You probably will, and I will do the same. But… I don’t think that’s the promise we need to make.”

Blaine tilts his head, curious, but there’s something in his eyes that hints at knowing. “What is it then?”

“Just that we’ll always keep looking for _this_. This…place.” In the quiet moment of consideration that follows, Kurt is certain that they’re both aware that he’s not referring to the floor of their bedroom, or their apartment, or even New York.

At long last, Blaine nods. “It’s a deal.” He seals it by pressing a kiss to Kurt’s mouth, closed-lipped and firm. They stay like that for several seconds, and when they part, Blaine begins to read more of Kurt’s letter to himself.

Blaine pipes up, and he’s donning a mischievous smirk. “What about the part where you said that my ass is _way_ more impressive than Channing Tatum’s?”

“I did _not_ write that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m pretty positive.”

Kurt makes a grab for the letter, but Blaine holds it out of his reach. Jesus, he really has managed to snag the world’s dorkiest husband. He levels Blaine with a glinting countenance of his own.

“It is, though. I’ll grant you that. You have a very notable posterior.”

“Hmm.” Blaine presses his lips together, and his eyes narrow, challenging. “I think that further examination needs to be done to make such a monumental ruling.”

“Cool. Let me call up Channing Tatum and I can get right on that…”

“Okay, that’s enough talk from you for tonight.” And soon Kurt is being tackled into the mattress of their bed and Blaine is holding true to his declaration by kissing him until he’s breathless. Which is perfectly fine, because they don’t need to say anything else.

When they at last begin drifting off, naked limbs entangled, spent and heavy with the scent of one another, Kurt remembers Blaine’s letter sitting on the floor a few feet away. The next day he’ll hide it, beside _another_ box, this one small and red, containing the first ring that Blaine ever gave him. It’s the one that he kept stashed in secret beside his cufflinks the entire time they were broken up, always knowing never to throw it out even on the nights when he thought he _hated_ Blaine.

Because they always come back together. Every single time.

***

_My Kurt Hummel-Anderson,_

_This morning, you woke me up to let me know that you’d be going to the store, but you’d be back home in an hour. After you left, I stayed up and I thought about what you meant. See, there’s this thing about words, how they often fail to get at the entire meaning behind them, and that communication is just our way of trying to fill this gap between our selves, but doing so is impossible. But I believe that, every once in a while, there’s a single word that’s so wholly perfect and simple that it becomes a tiny link, and that word accomplishes what others cannot. Anyway, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said, and you worded it so casually. “Back home". Home._

_[[ God, you’re probably rolling your eyes right now, aren’t you? Yup. Prepare yourself; there’s a gooey Blaine-Ander-sermon coming up. But really, wouldn’t you be disappointed if there **wasn’t** one?]]_

_There’s always going to be something leftover between us, Kurt. Something unspeakable that only the two of us can understand, and trying to describe it won’t work. We’ll probably spend our entire lives searching for it, the word, and where it is and whether or not we can invent it for ourselves. We can try to act it out, but it will never be as satisfying as saying it out loud to each other. I don’t know about you, but “I love you” does not even come close for me. It’s like a drop at the surface of an ocean, and the real meaning is hidden far deeper, someplace benthic and remote and ours._

_I spent that hour in bed today trying to decide if “home” came anywhere near it. I’m not sure that it does. There’s still so much missing from it, but I get the feeling that it’s the closest we’re ever going to get. It’s abstract, but it conveys so many of the things you make me feel: safe, peaceful, myself, and maybe a little bit stir-crazy sometimes, but there’s nowhere else I would rather return to. Home is portable and permanent, all at once. Home bends and warps over time, but each time you come back to it, it feels the same way you left it. It’s not the word I want but it will have to suffice for now. You’re my home, Kurt. The only one I’ll ever have._

_So now, about this fighting business… Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t invented time travel yet. (That will come sometime later. You’re in for a real treat.) But I’m going to bet that it has something to do with words, and that gap I was talking about earlier. (Do you see what I did there? All symmetric and whatnot? Only for you, Kurt. Only for you.)_

_In which case, I should warn you: I talk a **lot** , about a whole lot of different things, but I’m always going to come up a little bit short of building a bridge with something that you can hear and touch and taste. It’s really going to suck, and there will probably be occasions when I’ll say exactly the wrong words at exactly the wrong time, for which I am so, so sorry. But if you are willing to keep searching with me, I’ll spend my entire life trying to find that word that encompasses all of it, even if I know I never will. As I write this, you’re sitting beside me, doing just that, and it’s all that matters to me. We just need to keep looking, together. And I can promise that, whatever it is Kurt, it’s one million times more beautiful than “home”._

_Yours always and forever,_

_Blaine_

**Author's Note:**

> [Reblog it on Tumblr?](http://wunderxfunk.tumblr.com/post/86748220724/ficlet-the-first-fight-box) uwu #shamelessselfpromo
> 
> But seriously. Thank you for reading my words. <3


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